


The Greatest Of These

by fiveainley_ohmy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, John Talks Dirty, John is a Mess, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Many Gratuitous Sex Scenes, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, Virgin!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/pseuds/fiveainley_ohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been writing a lot of soft John™ lately...not sure why. Anyway...PORN :P</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Greatest Of These

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing a lot of soft John™ lately...not sure why. Anyway...PORN :P

> _"If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, then I have nothing." -1 Corinthians 13:3_

Everyday was an uphill battle. If John Watson had been fucked up before the consulting detective came into his life, he was _obliterated_ now that he was gone. He barely ate. He couldn't sleep without seeing that cold body lying on the pavement, a pool of blood gathering on the concrete, his bright, clever eyes staring but not seeing _anything_ -

Not a day went by that John didn't visit his grave. Sometimes he left a flower, sometimes he didn't. But everyday, he still uttered that same request:

"For me, Sherlock. Don't...be...dead."

It was on the 49th day that John's prayer received an answer.

John was crouched on the ground, placing a white rose at the base of the ebony tombstone, when a hand gently touched his shoulder.

"John."

John's blood stopped cold.

He slowly turned his head.

His view was obscured by the sun shining in his eyes and the moisture beginning to pool in the corners of them, but he could see the halo of messy curls, the pale eyes shining down at him, _the cheekbones_ -

John gasped, stumbling back onto the grassy plot where he was _supposed_ to be buried. "Sh-..." He couldn't even bare to say the man's name, for fear that acknowledging his presence would cancel his materiality.

"I'm here." The apparition's voice was soft, low, too sweet for John's ears to take. A tear slipped down his cheek as Sherlock bent and reached out for him. "I'm here," Sherlock murmured again, taking his hand to help him up.

He was real. He was _alive_.

With a shaky gasp, John found himself clinging to the man's bony frame, testing to make sure, as if he believed Sherlock was going to evaporate into particles. His complexion was paler - no, _greyer_ - than John remembered, he was thinner, dark rings under his eyes...a walking corpse. "How is this possible," John choked, barely coherent. "You...I saw..."

"An illusion, I'm afraid," Sherlock's warm baritone rumbled quietly. "John, I owe you a thousand apologies."

"Sherlock," John burbled, burying his face in the folds of Sherlock's Belstaff, breaking down and weeping. "Oh, God, _Sherlock..._ "

"John, I know you must be angry with me. I wanted to tell you, believe me, but I thought it was for your own good not to know. I was going undercover to take out the rest of Moriarty's international network, but I just couldn't bear to leave you in so much pain, so I came back. Mycroft has men he can send in to do the job in my stead-"

Just then, John did the one thing neither of them ever expected him to do.

He cupped Sherlock's face, leaned up, and softly kissed him.

Sherlock, obviously taken by surprise, didn't react at first. Then, cautiously, he kissed back, pulling John infinitesimally closer. His lips parted, and both of theirs slotted together perfectly, sliding against each other and making sparks shoot through their nervous systems. John made a tiny whimper, overwhelmed by the feeling and scent and _flavor_ of the best friend he'd thought was dead.

They broke apart, gasping. Sherlock stared into John's eyes, mouth agape. "John. I-"

John shook his head, quickly recapturing the detective's lips again. If either of them spoke now, the spell might break, and Sherlock might disappear again. John wasn't ready to let that happen. He wasn't totally sure that he wasn't hallucinating this, but if he was dreaming, he sure as hell didn't want to wake up yet.

As they kissed desperately, emotions bursting forward, their bodies melded together, afraid to let any space come between them. John's left arm was wrapped around Sherlock's waist, his right hand tangled in his wild thick curls, kissing the breath right out of the consulting detective, desperate to feel that this was _real_ , Sherlock was _here_ , Sherlock was _alive_ , letting him  _kiss_ him, kissing him _back_...

Sherlock was clinging to John's shoulders, his knees having buckled from the onslaught of passion. He audibly gasped as John carefully bit down on his bottom lip and _sucked_ it into his mouth. "Oh, God..." he breathed, as John tore his lips away from his mouth and pressed them to his neck, dragging that scarf away to leave an upward trail of kisses leading up to his earlobe.

"Sherlock," croaked John, tears still running down his cheeks, hugging him tightly. Sherlock, for once in his life, seemed speechless. John was glad for it. The two of them stood there, standing beside the empty grave, just holding each other.

* * *

They returned to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson was thankfully out, so they could avoid anymore emotional freak-outs.

"Moriarty was going to kill you. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson too. If I didn't jump. I wanted to tell you, oh God, how I wanted to, but you'd be endangered if you knew. But I just couldn't stay away from you."

John stared at him in disbelief, and pulled him close. "I love you too," he whispered into Sherlock's chest. "So very much."

"John," uttered Sherlock, melting into his grasp. "I promise I will never leave you again."

John took his hand and led him into Sherlock's old bedroom. Nothing had been touched. Not even the dust had settled, as if it had known Sherlock would return. Kissing, they crawled onto the bed. John scrabbled for Sherlock's shirt buttons. "Is this alright?" he asked softly.

"Yes, John, _please_..."

John reverently stripped Sherlock's suit jacket and shirt from him, kissing every inch of porcelain skin as it was exposed. Sherlock whimpered his name as John nuzzled his nipples and pawed desperately at John's jumper. John pulled back just long enough to pull it off, then unbuttoned the shirt underneath, then stripped himself of his undershirt.

Sherlock glared up at him. "You wear too many layers," he griped.

John laughed. God, it felt good to laugh. He hadn't even properly smiled since Sherlock's death. He kissed away Sherlock's frown and apologized. "God, I missed you so much," he said, feeling a fresh batch of tears threatening to well in his eyes again.

"I'm sorry," said Sherlock, and John could tell he meant it too. Sherlock started to reach out for his bared flesh, then hesitated. "C-can I-"

" _God_ yes." John shut his eyes as Sherlock's fingers mapped the plains and ridges of his torso, taking extra time to explore his Afghanistan wound, so curious and reverent. John cupped his face and kissed him again, slowly and deeply, to make sure the genius madman knew just how very much he was loved.

Soon their bodies were pressed together again, their trapped arousals pushed against one another. John shifted his hips ever so slightly and Sherlock gasped.

"Sherlock..." sighed John, tracing his sharp jawline with his lips, rubbing against him. "Love you...so much..."

They squirmed and caressed and ground against each other, till they were no longer kissing but more panting into each other's open mouths. "Sherlock," groaned John. "M'close, love..."

John felt Sherlock's teeth on his neck, his hands on his arse, and John was coming in his pants, moaning Sherlock's name, whining desperately. "Fuck... _fuck_..." John gasped, fumbling for the button on Sherlock's trousers.

He hastily drew Sherlock out and stroked him four times, and then Sherlock was coming beautifully all over his hand, his face twisted in angelic desperation, whimpering. "Oh God...oh _God_...God, John, I love you..."

John kissed him softly, till they were both nodding off.

* * *

_It was such a lovely dream...oh, Sherlock..._

John opened his eyes and found himself looking straight into those piercing, pearlescent eyes that had haunted him since that very first day at Bart's. Sherlock was in his arms. Sherlock was home. 

Sherlock loved him.

Sherlock smiled softly at him, his gaze so full of love John thought he might break again. "Not a dream then," he said croakily.

"I certainly hope not," Sherlock murmured.

John tenderly kissed him, and he was reassured by the very real feeling of soft lips compliant under his. His hand stroked affectionately down Sherlock's side, and he could individually count the detective's ribs. "Christ, you're even skinner than you were before," John mumbled.

"Ah. Yes, well, being a fugitive taking alms with the poverty stricken second class of Uganda does make for a scarcity of sustenance."

"Well, no more of that, Mister," said John, pulling him up into a sitting position. "You're coming to the kitchen with me and I'm going to fix you something to eat."

"The thing with peas?" Sherlock smiled.

John kissed both cheekbones, left, then right. "If we have the fixins' for it, yes. Whatever you like."

As it turned out, they didn't have the fixings for the thing with peas...or much food of any kind, really. But John did scrounge up a can of chunky soup and warmed it up on the stove for Sherlock. "It isn't much of a homecoming meal," he said apologetically, setting the steaming bowl in front of Sherlock. "But it's hearty, at least."

Sherlock didn't pick up his spoon. He just stared at the bowl morosely. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Sherlock, you don't have to keep-"

"The refrigerator is considerably bare, which means you haven't been keeping up with the shopping, which means you've been consuming the bare minimum to keep yourself alive-most likely what Mrs. Hudson forces on you. She's also been doing your laundry, as I could smell her brand of fabric softener on your clothes instead of the one you buy. Your computer is sitting on your desk, left open but turned off, which you never do, so you had to have left it that way after I was gone, not bothering to close it or plug it in to charge it. John, it's most obvious to me that you've been languishing since I left you, and I cannot forgive myself for leaving you in such a state-" Sherlock's voice broke, and he looked away ashamedly, his eyes squeezing shut as they welled up with remorseful tears.

"Sherlock...look at me," said John, gently coaxing Sherlock's head to turn. He stroked his curls. "Please, darling. Open your eyes."

Sherlock did so, reluctantly, sniffling. "I didn't want to hurt you, John. You're the one person I never, _ever_ want to hurt. I help other people because it's what's right. But I helped you because I _care_ , John. I love you."

"I know," said John, cupping his face and kissing his forehead. "You are so amazing, love. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I don't know anyone who would do what you did for me. For all of us. Yeah, it's true, you left me with some scars. But I was broken when you met me too. You fixed me. No, I don't just mean the limp. You brought purpose and joy and _love_ back into my life. Back then, the only reason I even bothered getting out of bed in the morning was because I thought my therapist would send a hunting party after me to chase me out of it. You fixed me then. You can fix me again. Just...having you back, looking at you again, touching you...I'm already on the road to recovery. I promise you, sweetheart - the happiness you bring me far outweighs any of the troubles. I don't even see them." John brought their foreheads together; a simple, affectionate gesture. "Not when I have you."

"I'm not worth it," Sherlock said miserably, shaking his head against John's. "You deserve so much better than me, John."

"Well, I disagree. And I'm afraid it doesn't really matter what you believe," said John, smiling. "You're all I've ever wanted, Sherlock Holmes. You're all I'll ever need."

Sniffling, Sherlock pressed his lips to John's once, twice, three times, then hugged him. "I swear, John Watson, that I will honor your faith in me. I will never leave you alone again. And I will never, ever stop loving you."

"Then I have everything I could ask for," said John, kissing his temple. "Now..." He picked up the spoon from the table and handed it to Sherlock. "Eat."

Sherlock obediently ate every drop, every piece of potato or beef or vegetable, leaving a clean bowl. "That was excellent. I haven't had a real meal in...seven weeks."

"Seven weeks," John repeated to himself. "It's funny, you know. I lived without knowing you for 37 years. Now I can't imagine being without you even for a minute."

Sherlock smiled, taking John's hand. "Come take a shower with me. I haven't had decent water pressure in nearly two months, and I happen to know you still have dried semen in your pants."

John laughed out loud at that, dutifully following the love of his life to the bathroom. "So I thought you didn't... _do_ anything?"

"I'm flesh and blood, John. I do have... _impulses_. I must admit, however, I didn't realize that until I met you," said Sherlock.

John grinned cheekily. "Oh? So I'm your cup of tea, is that it?"

"I suppose so. Oh, I always knew that if I found someone attractive, it would be a man, but I didn't actually expect anyone to come along who would catch my fancy." Sherlock turned to John, also smiling wryly. "And I thought _you_ 'weren't gay'."

John smiled ruefully. "Never said I was straight either, did I?"

"Hmm..." Sherlock pulled John's tee shirt off over his head. "So, that first night, at Angelo's...you were...'coming onto me'?"

"Oh yes," John chuckled shyly. "If you had just moved in with a man who was intriguing and brilliant and quenched your thirst for action and was bloody _gorgeous_ to boot, wouldn't you?"

"I'm not-" Sherlock began to say, then stopped, his cheeks turning an endearing shade of pink. "You...you really think so?"

"Oh yes," John said again, leaning up to lightly kiss the side of Sherlock's jaw. "Like a supermodel. Or a swan. Or an angel."

Sherlock blushed harder, rolling his eyes, obligingly lifting his arms so John could strip him of his pajama shirt. "Oh, please."

"I mean it. Look at you." John turned him toward the mirror. "You're absolutely beautiful." He punctuated his statement with a kiss on Sherlock's shoulder. "You're the loveliest thing I've ever seen."

"But you always tell me that I'm too skinny, that I need to eat something," Sherlock countered.

"Because I'm worried about your health, not because I have a fat fetish or something," John said. "Believe me, Sherlock-you are absolutely stunning. You should see the way people's heads turn to look at you. You could woo any straight woman you wanted-Molly Hooper's a testament to that fact. Hell, you could probably turn Lestrade."

"Actually, I wouldn't need to. He's not completely straight either," Sherlock confessed.

John was surprised. "Really? So you could deduce that Lestrade's into blokes, but not me?"

Sherlock looked away, bashfully. "Perhaps my skills are a bit skewed when it comes to you, in matters like that," he admitted quietly. "I've always thought of my mind as a hard drive, and that sentiment was the virus in the data."

"So I brought the great consulting detective to his knees?" John said, grinning proudly.

Sherlock smirked at John mischievously. "Maybe later." John's eyebrows shot up. Sherlock grinned. "For right now-shower."

They rid themselves of the rest of their clothes and climbed in the shower together. "And for the record," said Sherlock to John, as he turned on the stream of warm water, "I find you incredibly beautiful."

"Me?" John laughed shyly. "All short and pudgy and greying hair and scratched up."

"And solid build and deep blue eyes and gold-and-silver hair and a frankly spectacular arse," Sherlock grinned, kissing his temple.

"You're one to talk about great arses," John replied, squeezing Sherlock's rump affectionately. "My God, the way you swot around in those tightly tailored trousers-I had to physically stop myself from reaching out and grabbing it a few times."

"Why didn't you?" Sherlock's eyes burned brightly under his now dripping curls.

John kissed the side of his neck, palming Sherlock's buttocks. "I will now, now that I know I'm allowed to. Bet on that."

"John..." sighed Sherlock as John trailed kisses down his throat.

John reluctantly pulled away. "Come on, love. Let's wash up. I don't want to finish this thing before it begins."

They reverently washed each other, caressing each other innocently, but curiously. John found, as he was shampooing Sherlock's thick curls, that the consulting detective's scalp was quite sensitive, and John soon had him purring like a cat as he lightly scratched at his follicles. Sherlock's gorgeous, deft, musician's hands discovered John's sides were lightly ticklish, and enjoyed stroking his hands up and down them, making John sigh. After every patch of them was scrubbed clean, they got out and toweled off. Then John took Sherlock's hand and confidently led him to the bedroom.

They lowered themselves to the mattress, kissing slowly and deeply. Sherlock was on his back underneath John, caged in his arms. As their lips and tongues tangled, their hands roved each other's bodies like cartographers exploring a new piece of land to record: reverently, and with great attention to detail.

"John," Sherlock whispered. "As you may have inferred, I haven't...ever-"

"I know, beautiful, I know," said John, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips. "I'll take good care of you, I promise. We'll go as slow as you need. I've got you. Do you have lube?"

Sherlock nodded. "Drawer of my bedside table."

"Good. God, Sherlock, I've wanted this for so long... _yes_." Sherlock groaned in response as their bodies slotted together and their erections pressed together, hot and firm already. They lazily shifted their bodies, rubbing against and drawing moans from one another. John thrust his tongue inside Sherlock's sweet mouth, tasting, taking, plundering. Their arousal slowly built, and clever, brilliant Sherlock finally took the initiative to wrap one of his gorgeous, long fingered hands around both of their lengths, slowly stroking them both.

John hoarsely whispered his name in his ear, as he pressed as a kiss just behind his earlobe, making the detective whimper deliciously. "You don't know how many times I've dreamed of having you. In this bed, in _my_ bed, in the living room, on the rug in front of the fireplace, on the sofa, in our chairs...bending you over the table in the kitchen." John's voice deepened to a possessive growl. "Jerking you off in the back of a taxi cab. My tongue inside you while you're up against the wall in the shower. My cock in your mouth while yours is in mine. Me on my hands and knees while you're balls deep inside me."

"Oh my God," whispered Sherlock, his hips jerking.

John kissed the side of his neck. "This lovely throat of yours...I've always wanted to suck on it. Mark it up, so everyone knows you're spoken for."

Sherlock nodded fervently. "Do it, John. Mark me up,  _God_ , I'm yours-"

John growled with pleasure and did just that - sunk his teeth into the side of Sherlock's neck and sucked hard, popping blood vessels. He left a violet bruise, showing the entire world that not only was Sherlock Holmes alive, but he belonged to John Watson.

Sherlock moaned as he felt the mark blooming on his neck. John shushed him, running his tongue over the imprint soothingly. "God, you're beautiful. I love you," John murmured, kissing his mouth softly.

"I love you so much, John," Sherlock whispered. "I always have."

John moved lower, kissing the base of Sherlock's throat. "I could spend the rest of my life kissing your skin," he told him. "I wish I could kiss every inch of it. But I don't think I can wait long enough to do that." He kissed down Sherlock's sternum. "But I do intend on taking you apart, love. I'm gonna make it so good for you." He laved Sherlock's left nipple with his tongue, and Sherlock moaned, arching slightly into him. John chuckled, kissing across his chest to suck on the other one.

"God, I knew you'd be sensitive. With your silk shirts and turning your pajamas inside out so the tag doesn't scratch you. But Jesus, I never figured you'd make so much _noise_." John's tongue flicked over Sherlock's ticklish navel, making his flat tummy jump involuntarily, and Sherlock gasped to emphasize John's point. "Then again..." John ran his nose up the crease of Sherlock's pelvis on one side. "Guess I should've  _deduced_ that. The sounds you make when you're thinking. Good God, you sound down right  _pornographic_ at times. Sometimes I have to pretend like I'm inspecting the dead body to keep from popping a boner right there in the middle of the crime scene."

John could hear the smirk in Sherlock's voice as he delicately ran the top of his tongue along the curve of the other hipbone. "I'll keep that in mind."

"What, so you can torment me even more now?" John laughed. "You bad, bad man."

"But you like it though," Sherlock pointed out smugly.

John grinned. "Yes. I do. Against my better judgment. I like you quite a lot."

Then he wrapped his lips around the head of Sherlock's cock.

"Ah! John!" Sherlock exclaimed, his hands flying to the back of John's head, clenching his hair. John hummed approvingly, sliding his mouth down Sherlock's cock like a firefighter on a pole.

Sherlock was moaning as John sucked him. "Oh God, John,  _yes_..."

John took his mouth off of Sherlock just long enough to say, "Hand me the lube, beautiful."

As Sherlock's hands fumbled in the drawer of the nightstand, John heard him moaning, "How you are so good at this?"

John just chuckled, the sound muffled by Sherlock's prick in his throat. It vibrated them, making Sherlock groan audibly, hurried pushingly the tube at John. "D-don't do that again...I'm gonna come..."

John groaned around him at the thought of Sherlock losing control like that, coming in his mouth. John's prick throbbed. "You can, you know," he gasped.

"N-n." Sherlock shook his head stubbornly. "I want you to fuck me, John. I want you _inside_ me."

"Holy shit," said John, pulling off. "Fuck, Sherlock, don't say things like that. I nearly came from that. God, you don't know how fucking sexy you are." He buried his face in the soft, firm muscles of Sherlock's stomach, kissing and licking the flat plane.

"Please...please, John," Sherlock said, gently nudging John with his foot. "Waited...so long-"

"Well you don't have to wait anymore, love," said John, opening the lube and squirting a dollop into his hand. He grinned sheepishly. "Shame on me. Keeping you waiting all this time."

"I hope you're prepared to make up for-oh!" Sherlock gasped as John's index finger probed his entrance.

"Don't worry, darling, I'll be gentle." John patiently massaged Sherlock till he relaxed enough for him to slip his finger inside. "Oh damn, you're tight. I'm gonna split you right open, Sherlock."

"Oh, God," sighed Sherlock. John thought about uttering the cliché "not quite", but he let it be. He loosened Sherlock up to where he could fit two fingers in.

"You're so good like this," John purred, kissing the insides of Sherlock's thighs teasingly, scissoring inside him, his cock twitching every time Sherlock would make one of those sexy little whimpers or gasps. "God, just look at you." Sherlock's cock was _very_ erect, swollen and red, leaking copiously onto his stomach. "You ever touch yourself while you think about me?"

Sherlock wordlessly nodded. "Oh God, tell me all about it," John groaned, pushing his fingers into Sherlock a little deeper.

" _Ahh_ \- I - mmm, yes, John - I would push my fingers into myself, pretending you were fucking me. Sometimes I...I could hear you upstairs, pleasuring yourself. I could hear your mattress squeaking, you were _groaning_ -"

"You wanna know a secret, Sherlock?" John whispered filthily, up to three fingers now. "I was thinking of fucking you too."

Sherlock moaned loudly. "Oh, God, John, enough, get inside me, _now_!"

"You sure?" John asked teasingly. "Sure you don't want to wait a _tiny_ bit longer?"

"John Hamish Watson, if you don't fuck me this instant, I will tie you to this bed and ride your cock like the Lone _fucking_ Ranger!" Sherlock exclaimed, glowering at him.

" _Fuck_!" John swore, pulling his fingers out of Sherlock and aligning himself. Then he looked at Sherlock curiously. "'The Lone Ranger'? Seriously?"

"It was playing on the plane back to London and I was bored, had to distract myself somehow," Sherlock sighed.

"This from the man who can't even remember that the Earth goes 'round the Sun," John chuckled fondly. God, he was so in love with this man.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in frustration. "Ugh, I _told_ you, at the time, I believed it didn't mat-" Sherlock gasped as the fat head of John's cock nudged his opening.

"Oh, but it _all_ matters, doesn't it?" John asked smugly, rubbing the tip of his cock against Sherlock's rim, smearing his pucker with precome. Sherlock moaned. "Every-" Sherlock inhaled sharply as John pressed his head inside him. "-single-" John pushed in a little more. "- _inch_."

"Oh, oh, oh, God, John, please keep going, please," Sherlock begged as John slowly filled him up.

"Couldn't stop me now if you tried, love," John groaned, fighting himself not to just slam into his friend's tight, wet, _delicious_ heat. "Jesus, Sherlock, you feel so good-"

What seemed like ages later, John bottomed out. Sherlock was trembling beneath him, wriggling on his cock, impaled.

"Sherlock? Sweetheart? Have I hurt you?" John worried, cupping his face.

"No, oh God, John, fuck me,  _please_ ," Sherlock pled.

John moaned and began rolling his hips gently into him, nudging Sherlock's sweet spot, drawing a soft gasp from the detective. "You feel so good around me, Sherlock," John murmured his ear, laying burning kisses and licks against the side of his neck. He patiently moved in and out of him slowly, torturing Sherlock and drawing his pleasure out, making him moan so deliciously. "So fucking good. You're perfect. I think you were made for me. You like me inside you, filling you up like this?"

"John...John..." Sherlock whined.

"I'm the only one who's ever gonna touch you like this. I'm the only one who gets to see you like this, all needy and out of control. I'm the only one who'll ever be inside you."

Sherlock looked up into his eyes deeply. "I wouldn't want anyone else."

John groaned and thrust up into him, making Sherlock cry out with pleasure. John babbled as he fucked into him over and again. "God, Sherlock, I love you so Goddamn much, you're mine, all mine, I'm never gonna let you leave again, darling, I love you so, so much-"

Sherlock whimpered, clinging to him. His fingernails bit into the muscley flesh of John's buttocks, encouraging John to drive into him harder. John's cock pounded Sherlock's prostate over and over, making Sherlock scream with delight.

"I can make you come like this, can't I?" John growled. "Come without even touching you, just my cock slamming into your tight little arse. Look at you dribbling all over yourself, God, you're a beautiful little mess, so fucking beautiful, love-"

"John,  _please_!" Sherlock sobbed, grinding himself down desperately on John's length, wrapping his legs around his waist so he could take John even _deeper_ inside him.

"Come on, love," John panted. "Come for me. I want you to come while I'm still inside you. You're so close, darlin', just let go..."

"John, John...I'm..." Sherlock's figure was rigid as his pleasure rapidly surmounted, his head arched back, his mouth hanging open, gasping for breath. His balls and stomach were tight and his cock was straining-

"Yes. Yes, that's it. Come for me, Sherlock,  _God_ , you're beautiful-"

Sherlock finally burst, sobbing and moaning, spilling all over their stomachs, his face twisted in gorgeous agony. His gluteal muscles _squeezed_  John's cock as he pumped out, gripping John so tight that John was swept away, coming so hard he saw stars. His pelvis snapped forward sporadically, fucking his essence deep in this amazing man he loved so much.

They kept triggering each other. Any little movement John made inside him had Sherlock clenching around him involuntarily; every little squeeze had John minutely thrusting into him again. Finally, shaking from overstimulation and entirely wrung out, John and Sherlock came back down again. John threaded his fingers through the sweat damp curls at the nape of Sherlock's nape and pressed his lips to his panting mouth over and over, wanting to kiss him and catch his breath at the same time.

"I love you," John gasped. "I love you, Sherlock."

"I love _you_ , John."

They kissed several times more, then John pulled away, inquiring frantically, "Sherlock, please tell me I didn't hurt you."

" _No_ , oh God, John, it was perfect,  _you_ were perfect, God, I love you so much-" Sherlock pulled him back down for more kisses, which John was happy to supply.

* * *

"What comes now?" John said.

They had called for take out, had dinner, and talked the whole evening away. They were already falling back into old patterns, except with much more kissing and affectionate touches. Then they curled up together and went to sleep in Sherlock's bed. John had awoken with Sherlock's head resting on his chest and his erection poking his thigh and was again convinced he was dreaming, until Sherlock soundly kissed him and impaled himself on John's morning erection, steadily riding him till they were both whimpering for release. Then they took another shower, becoming aroused and getting each other off all over again. John had gone without sex for so long, even before Sherlock's fall, and being with Sherlock, actually getting to _have_ him, in every sense in the word, made him feel like a damn horny teenager again.

Now they were sitting at the breakfast table, eating their dry scrambled eggs and burnt bacon (Sherlock had been intent on distracting John while he was cooking with teasing kisses to his neck and playful groping, the bastard) and sipping their coffee and catching each other making gooey eyes at the other.

"I really don't know," sighed Sherlock. "Molly Hooper is already aware, of course. I sent her a text the day before yesterday telling her I was coming back - she told me where I'd find you, actually. Gabriel shall have to be informed that his greatest asset is once again available for assistance-"

"You know his name's _Greg_ , right?"

"Whatever. And then of course, there is-"

"John, dear, I washed your jumpers, they're all nice and clean for you. I'll just pop back downstairs and whip you up something to-" Mrs. Hudson, who had let herself in, carrying a neat stack of John's laundry, spotted Sherlock sitting there and screamed so loudly, the living room windows nearly shattered again. She dropped the laundry all over the floor and took off running down the stairs and into the street, hollering, "Ghost! Ghost!" for all to hear.

"Oh, shit," John said, holding back a laugh as he and Sherlock got up to chase after their landlady.

"Well, there's your answer, John," said Sherlock, clambering down the staircase with him. "Didn't exactly mean for my reveal to start with a bang. Public or otherwise."

Now John really did laugh. "I love you, you mad bastard."

"As I do you."

> _1 Corinthians 13:13: And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love._


End file.
